User blog:RealMandoKnight/Bház, the Legacy: Part One
So, over on the Lego Star Wars Gallery, I have been RPing, about a spirirt-like character known as Bhaz, who is a darksider. it's not really all that involded in the events of SWRP, so i'll post it here. here is Part One, Cold as Ice. "I smell fear, and it smells good."-Admiral Trench. - The wind whispers in its cold, raspy voice, like that of an old man, gone mad with the ways of darkness. I tune it all out, wandering across the tundra wasteland, searching for something, anything at all. I can only see so far ahead, for fog has reached out its seemingly divine hand, masking this waste in a miserable sheet of gloom. Cold's icy hands cover my checks, as everything inside my ghostly form feel cold. Ice... As I glide across the artic waste, I hear a vovie calling, "Bház... WHy are you here?" To which I reply. "For that is where my eyes were opened." Then all I hear is the raspy call of the wind, and I contnue to treck along the waste, mindlessly. What is here for me? Nothing. The thought wriggles its way into my mind, like a great wurm burrowing. "Who are you?" The voice say, hinting age, and something else. "I am Bház." I answer, proudly. The voice asks. "I see. Of what legacy do you carry? OF what legacy do you carry? A strange question to ask, but then again, a voice with no owner is another very strange, phenomenon. "Hmm. I was a servant of Rangous, but now... But now, now I am my own.." "But everyman must have a star. Do you?" A star... "Maybe, maybe not. As of now, I guess mine would be escaping this waste." "What then?" It asks, persistently. What then... "I suppose, the ways of the Sith..." "Tisk, tisk, tisk. Such is a very hard task... What do you know of, of the darkness?" "What I know is for I to know, for knowledge is power." I hear an ominous voice echo off, and the voice says. "But also you must know knowledge, comes at a price..." And with that, the wind picks up, and snow pelts down. The fog presses harder, as if to push me out, but I remain. I am Bház, I am a warrior. As I walk, I start to hear moaning. At first, I thought it was my mind's eye, or that voice, but as I walker, I see glints off silhouette of some hooded figures. No mater, I must keep going, if I wish to survive. Survive... I insistently snap around, as a bloodcurdling scream, like on an injured goat would yell, echoes throughout the waste. There, before me, stands a hooded figure. Black rags cover it, and it's skin is a light, ugly grey, like cooked pork. Rags barely reach past the middle of its upper leg, and its right arm is nested against it body, stiffly sticking outwards. It moans. What is this? "What are you?" I ask it, still uncertain. It murmurs. "I am Makuza, Lord of the Fallen Horde. Come, Bház, that is, if you wish to survive." It turns, and starts to walk, ever so slowly. I reluctantly follow, trekking across she artic waste. As we walk, it calls. "My life lasts more than a millennium, each century just a footnote in the many chapters it spans. I could leave you stranded here, but I see something in you. COntonue to follow me, child." - To be Continued. Category:Blog posts